Chapter Text
For once, it’s coincidence that brings Tizzy in proximity to her girlfriend.
Yes, her assignment could have been as easily done anywhere else in the world, and, yes, she chose this geographical area with her Cherub in mind. That’s not the same as actually grabbing an object once belonging to her and following it until a more binding connection could be made.
Neivira won’t appreciate the distinction. She never does.
But when she parks her borrowed car outside this dumpy little bar in a small town in the middle of nowhere, it’s entirely fate that one of the figures sitting at the bar happens to belong to Neivira. The shape of the back, the way that the shoulders hunch as though burdened by invisible wings. She’s alone, no attuned person to sit beside her, or at least none appropriate to bring into this environment. So probably no attuned person.
Tizzy drapes a hand over her girlfriend’s shoulder. Neivira’s dressed the same as usual: heavy boots, beaten-up jeans, leather jacket, white tank top, necklace chain dangling just outside her fingertips, leading downward. “Neivira. Long time, no see.”
She knows her Cherub uses a new alias on the corporeal plane, some meaningless piece of fluff name she picked up a century or two back that can hardly stick in Tizzy’s mind longer than she might need it to track Neivira down.
“Tzofie,” Neivira says, not looking up from the coffee she’s nursing in lieu of alcohol. The shoulder under Tizzy’s fingertips twitches as though her Cherub doesn’t appreciate the lack of VapuTech touching her right now. At this range, a raygun at even minimum power would cause severe burns, if not blow the limb clean off. “What are you doing here?”
Tizzy hasn’t gone by that name for—oh, centuries, before her transfer out of Fate even—but somehow Neivira’s never picked up on that detail in any of their subsequent visits. Or perhaps she did one time, and lost it in her own unreliable memory. Not that it bothers Tizzy enough to correct her.
“I was in the area. Wanted to say ‘Hello’ to my girlfriend while I was here.”
“Ex-girlfriend. And now you have.”
“And now I have.” The seat next to Neivira waits for an occupant. So Tizzy obliges. She orders a whiskey sour, just to have a prop to play with. “You’re so picky on the details.”
“Not a detail. A fundamental axiom. One I’ve explained to you multiple times.”
“Understanding an explanation and accepting it are two different concepts.” Tizzy raises her drink a fraction of an inch and takes a sip. “I have explained to you how these connections don’t terminate as the result of a service change. But you’ve never accepted the conclusion, even on the rare occasions you’ve had the Ethereal Forces to understand.”
“And I could explain to you how relationships require a mutual agreement to be valid. Or perhaps I should delegate that lecture to a Trader. Or a Judge.” Tizzy can almost see the horse that is Neivira’s celestial form snap at her fingers. Her Cherub is no longer drinking her beverage, rather the mug is being fiddled with on the bar.
“You wouldn’t. Too squishy, not enough firepower.” Tizzy smiles. Nothing Neivira is willing to say or do with humans in range could cause anything worse than mild irritation. “Or perhaps it depends on the Choir. You always did like sending Malakim after me. The last time was quite inspired, if I say so myself.”
Her Cherub twitches. It’s almost darling. “Or maybe those Malakim just happened to read your honor and found it…lacking. Not every bit of corporeal trouble you run into is my doing.”
Tizzy chuckles and sets her hand atop Neivira’s. “Most of it is.”
Neivira waves her hand dismissively and shakes off Tizzy’s in the process. “Then perhaps you should simply stop stalking me. With all your Ethereal Forces, you should know how to accomplish that.”
Her hands itch to transport Neivira down to Hell. Take her Cherub, chain her down in one of the holding cells, and explain to the Guardian everything she refuses to understand until the Dissonance swallows her whole and spits her out in a new shape. How their beloved Archangel had been reincarnated into Hell. How if Neivira truly loved Raphael, she would join Tizzy in serving the Mad Genius. How it was much easier to be Djinn and not Cherub, to not have the chain of caring rubbing raw against her Forces. There’s an analogy a Windy should appreciate.
None of that is worth explaining that to the Guardian. Neivira sheds Ethereal Forces like a nuclear reaction sheds particles. Tizzy passes by every few decades going on for centuries now, and how many times has Neivira mostly forgotten her, their long relationship reduced to little islands of remembrance until Tizzy comes along again and reminds her of what they have together? Neivira’s mind is full of gaps large enough for whole angels to fall into.
Not that Tizzy feels particularly bitter. No need to feel bitter about what is merely an established fact. Almost a law of physics, even.
She reaches out and examines the chain around Neivira’s neck. An artifact key at the end of a chain, situated to keep the object of importance hidden in Neivira’s bosom. Keys themselves were a primitive technology but a technology nonetheless. She kisses the end of the key. Lips to skin is a touch too far to push Neivira this century, but lips to object to skin? Almost as satisfying. That scowl on the Cherub’s cute little face? Perfection.
“Look at you, thinking my presence here is all about you.” Tizzy drawls. It’s a good Djinnish drawl, tinkered with and fine-tuned to get under the skin of a being so full of loyalty. She sets the mostly full glass down, and slides it away. “You’re so vain Balseraphs and Impudites should take notes. You can’t even conceive that I could have other business in the area that needs minding, can you?” She sets a hand on Neivira’s cheek and admires the contrast of her olive skin against Neivira’s deeper brown. “Not that I would ever turn down the opportunity to see you. We can catch up later.”
It’s not an attunement, not like she’s done in the past, probably will do again in the future as time and resources allow. But Neivira won’t be able to confirm that fact for a bit yet, and the mere possibility of attunement will gnaw at her Cherub. Make her paranoid. Slow her down. Keep her out of contact with any attuned as a futile measure of protection. Trip her up, even if it doesn’t Trip her yet.
But, with as much regret as a Djinn can muster, Tizzy means what she said to Neivira. Other business—the kind accompanied by urgent deadlines and better left to an assistant—brings her to the area. The opportunity to talk to her girlfriend again? Merely a bonus.